


Without A Can Of Worms, You Can't Expect The Fish To Bite

by printfogey



Category: Gintama
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fade to Black, KonZura - Freeform, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 16:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/pseuds/printfogey
Summary: (Unless You Have A Very Shiny Lure). Two enemy generals go fishing and fool around on their day off. Katsura/Kondo, set before the Shogun Assassination arc (and also before the Afro arc).





	Without A Can Of Worms, You Can't Expect The Fish To Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PluralForce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PluralForce/gifts).



> AUTHOR'S NOTES: As the summary says, this is set before the Shogun Assassination arc and also before the Afro arc. Many thanks to [Tonko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonko/) and Prpl_pen for looking over this and providing helpful feedback! Also thanks to [Silverwolf CC](https://silverwolfcc.dreamwidth.org/) for giving me general advice and English terms related to angling. Any remaining errors are my responsibility alone.
> 
> All sorts of feedback are welcome, including nitpicks and other constructive criticism.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The characters of Gintama are created and owned by Hideaki Sorachi. They are used here without permission. This fanfic is for entertainment, not profit, and should not be posted elsewhere without the writer's approval.

From the moment he’d gone out on his daily morning jog, Katsura had had every intention of taking advantage of the lovely spring weather to go fishing with Elizabeth: it had been ages since the last time, and they could certainly use the free food. Unfortunately, as he returned his most esteemed pet and companion was still lying sluggish in bed and mumbling drowsily, getting dizzy as he attempted to stand up. Katsura felt his forehead and detected a fever, ordered Elizabeth to remain in bed, and handed him a glass of water and his favourite magazine. Then he took a bucket and a can of bait he’d prepared earlier, dug out his fishing rod from the back of the closet, and was off.

He trekked all the way to the far end of a neighbour ward, where they’d had good luck in the past. On the way he took several detours, including a cut across rooftops in one area and leaping across a canal, less because he thought there were actual pursuers to shake off and more just to keep his skills up and simply for the fun of it. Once he reached the fishing site, at first he saw plenty of other anglers sitting on the high bank with their lines dipping into the river below. But next to a grove of trees, a group was just getting up to move as he arrived, and so he could sit down comfortably, even spreading out his things a little.

By now the sun was high in the sky, but not so hot he preferred the shade of the nearby trees instead. He did, however, put his broad-brimmed monk hat back on before baiting the hook, putting on his handmade lure (shaped like Elizabeth, with a non-canonical red bowtie to add more colour), and casting.

Five minutes and one small fish later, he heard the sound of footsteps over the grass. “This looks like a good place to fish,” a brash, cheerful voice said to his left. “Mind if I share it? Sorry, but the other spots seem taken already.” 

“Not at all, sit down, there’s plenty of room,” Katsura said politely, turning his head -- and was then instantly up on his feet, sword in hand. At the back of his head he thought, _Perhaps I should have been quicker to recognize that voice._ But then, what could you do against the force of plot convenience?

The Commander of the Shinsengumi was in civilian clothes, yukata and hakama, but as usual he still wore his sword, and had drawn it the next instant. “Katsura! Dammit! What are you doing here? What kind of trouble are you fishing for?”

“The only thing I’m fishing for is my dinner,” said Katsura, narrowing his eyes as he slowly backed, but didn’t leave the riverside. They started to circle one another. Katsura didn’t make the mistake of turning his head, but he could see no policemen or other associates running to Kondo’s aid at the corner of his eye.

“Is that so?” said Kondo, steel in his voice now. “Are you sure you’re not here as part of a nefarious plot? Give me your word your fishing has nothing to do with overthrowing the government.”

“Everything I do is dedicated to my cause,” declared Katsura. “But this time only in a more roundabout way, like an otherwise useless sidequest just to gain XP. Or if you prefer, gain this evening’s dinner and some peace of mind. And how about you? Can you swear you’re not here on some undercover work?”

The people nearby –other anglers, and some passersby – didn’t seem too interested in what was happening, whether it was because they thought the two of them were only playing around, or if they just didn’t want to be involved.

“I’m not!” growled Kondo. “It’s my day off. I was looking forward to peace and quiet.”

“Hmph. As if a government dog deserves it,” muttered Katsura, still circling, keeping his eyes fixed on his enemy: in his head, he was counting backwards from their last encounters. The last time they’d met unexpectedly, he’d simply run away, and likewise the time before then. Before that, he’d run _and_ thrown a bomb. Before that had been that time outside the videogame shop: they’d both drawn their swords as well, then, but Leader had unexpectedly ran past on Sadaharu-dono, breaking them up without her even noticing. Before then… that had been the time at the cinema, hadn’t it?

He shook his head: the point was, there had been sufficient encounters of hostile nature that he felt it allowable to offer a truce. It mustn’t be too easy, after all. 

“Much as I hate to say so, Commander Kondo,” he said tersely, “the weather is pleasant and the fish are biting. I notice you didn’t bring any bait. If you agree to a temporary truce, I’m prepared to share this fishing spot and my bait with you. That’s the best offer government scum could get.”

“As opposed to the best offer terrorist scum could get, which would be padded handcuffs and a cell with a window,” huffed Kondo. But he did shoot a tempted glance at Katsura’s can of bait. The river was sparkling in the sun. Another moment of clear indecision, and then he stood back, sheathing his sword. “ _Fine_ , then. Only ‘cause the weather’s so damn nice. Let’s make it our 22nd truce.”

“Agreed,” said Katsura, also sheathing his sword. He moved the bucket of fish between them and placed the bait can next to it, then carefully sat down. Kondo sat as well, his own bucket on his other side. He put bait on his hook and cast the line.

A silence followed, while the nearby birds chirped, traffic boomed and honked further away, airships passed high above them, and two more fishes bit on Katsura’s line. He reeled one of them in, but lost the other.

“Damn! This never happens when I have Elizabeth with me,” he grumbled. “Elizabeth always brings me good luck in fishing.”

Kondo chortled, rather obnoxiously. “Hahaha! You’re just trying to blame your lack of skill on bad luck. You should give up terrorism and focus on honing your fishing skills. Though you know what they say - lucky in fishing, unlucky in love!”

Katsura frowned. “Isn’t that gambling?”

“No, no, I’m sure it was fishing. And if so, I sure prefer being unlucky in fishing… Ah-!” He broke off excitedly. “Someone’s biting!” He reeled the line in, then grinned triumphantly at the small fish he’d caught, before dropping it in his own bucket.

Katsura put new bait on his hook, doing his best to make it particularly alluring to the fish, before throwing out his line again with a sniff of disdain. Only a few minutes later he was pleased and smug to have caught the biggest fish yet, though in non-relative terms it was still a pretty small one.

“Tch!” Kondo looked put-upon and dug into his pockets, bringing out a plastic lure in which was, of course, black and gold. “Forgot I had this. Now they’re all going to bite!”

Another few silent minutes passed. Katsura noted his enemy’s shoulders slowly growing less tense, his face smoothing out a little, his breathing more relaxed. As for his part, he supposed he was less tense than initially, too. They each caught three more fishes and plenty of junk: bottles, condoms, chewed-through gloves, and the ubiquitous humourous old shoe. There was even what looked like a washed-out sign of his pet’s, but what would it have been doing there? Surely that was mere coincidence. 

Kondo had grinned in triumph at his new catches, smacking his lips at the biggest one, and had cursed at the unwanted refuse. Now his look was more contemplative.

In a low voice, he said, “You know Gengai the roboticist?”

“Ah… somewhat. We were never involved in that plot, you know.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. Well, we’ve had another tip-off to his current whereabouts. His case was too high-profile for us to get away with not following up on it. So. There’s gonna be a raid this night, or early tomorrow morning.”

“…I understand.” What a loss to the Kabuki district that would be, to have that brilliant head severed from his body instead of functioning as a universal technical guru for an affordable price. Katsura had had several custom jobs and cheap repair work done at his place. More importantly, he knew the man was close to Gintoki, Leader and Shinpachi. 

But now the inventor would be warned in time. 

Another pause, then he said, also keeping his voice low, “The Golden Cave faction are planning to ambush a weapons shipment on the road, south-east of Edo, three days from now.”

Kondo breathed in through his teeth, but his voice was composed as he went on, “Where?”

“That I don’t know.” 

“Where’s their regular meeting-place?”

Katsura shook his head. “Can’t tell you. But for this venture, I heard they plan to meet up in the vacant lot behind the Yamanishi sake shop before setting out.”

“I see.” Kondo nodded. “That’s good to know.” 

“Tsk.” Katsura frowned as he stared down at the water’s surface. He thought he could see movement, but he felt no pull on the line. “I wouldn’t have told you anything if I thought those fools would do anything worthwhile with the weapons,” he said disdainfully. “But it’s just another sordid hostage affair they’ve been planning. I figure it’s better to stop them at this point than when it gets messy later on, after they’ve been dragged even more poor young idiots into it.”

Kondo cast him a sharp glance. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned for the hostages than for those hotheads endangering them?”

“I’m quite capable of being concerned for all of them,” said Katsura haughtily. “By the way, your float is moving.”

“Ah! Hey! Whoa, it’s a big one!” Kondo leaned out over the edge excitedly; there was a drop several metres down to the water. He swayed precariously for a moment. Without thinking Katsura grabbed his shoulder to keep him from slipping.

“Wh…Whew.” Kondo clutched the grass on his other side and scrambled back to safe ground, without letting go of the fishing rod. Katsura let go. Kondo was panting and wiping sweat from his forehead as he reeled up the line, sighing a little to see the hook empty after all. 

Then he glanced at Katsura, an appreciative smile on his face that made Katsura’s heart skip, just a little. “Heh. You keep doing these things.”

“It’s a truce.” Katsura kept his tone short. He couldn’t say, _You’d do the same for me_ , although he didn’t doubt Kondo would. But saying so out loud was impossible.

Kondo shrugged. “Fair enough.” He drew a hand through his hair and shifted position. He’d moved closer, now, or was it Katsura who had, without noticing? The scent of the river and the grass mixed with the warm, sunny smell of Kondo, and Katsura found himself wondering how much free time Kondo actually had today, and if he himself really needed to catch that many more fish. Elizabeth was sick, anyway, and couldn’t do the cooking. (Katsura was good, and fast, at cleaning fish; but cooking it was a different matter.) He supposed the fish would keep in the refrigerator until tomorrow, but...

He realized he was holding his breath, as if waiting for something to happen, and forced himself to let it out. Kondo mumbled something inaudible and reached for the can of bait again, putting a wriggling caterpillar on his hook. He also fastened a second lure to the line and cast it out once more. Katsura returned his attention to his own line; a little later, they both hooked two new fishes almost the same exact time, and miraculously managed to reel both of them in without getting tangled. Kondo claimed his catch was the bigger, measuring more from nose to tail-fin; but Katsura pointed out there was probably more meat on his.

“It’s the old length vs girth issue,” said Kondo sagely.

Katsura humphed at that. “It’s not the size, it’s what you do with it.” 

“Hahaha! I guess you would say that.” 

“Shut up. My catch is still better.” Katsura dropped his clearly superior fish into his own bucket. Before he could turn back to the fishing rod, currently resting on his other side, Kondo inched closer and put his hand over Katsura’s.

“I, um….” he started, then trailed off with a little cough, cheeks reddening.

Katsura glanced up at him under his bangs, not pulling away his hand. A prickle of excitement leaped through it, and up his arm. “What?” 

“I, well.” Kondo coughed, then cleared his throat. “Well. I was thinking back on things. Like how our 8th truce turned out. And the 11th. And the 14th.”

Katsura coloured, too. “…Ah. Well.” After a moment, he added in a low voice, “There was the 19th, too.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would count that one. We were interrupted.”

“Yes, well… that’s the nature of things. It was nice until then.” But not quite as nice as the other three times had been. Kondo had shown off his flexibility very enticingly during the 11th truce. And the 14th one, at the beach on a summer night, had been terribly atmospheric. One might even say ‘romantic’, except he still couldn’t find it appropriate to go that far. 

He felt himself blush deeper at the thought, and his right hand started to fidget distractedly, smoothing out his kimono, moving his fishing rod for no reason. He didn’t move his left hand away from Kondo’s, however. 

“So. Er. Want to make our 22nd truce a bit like that, too?” When Kondo looked like that, head on the side, gaze honest and boyish and eager to please, Katsura had no idea how the ladies – Otae-dono, and whoever he had chased before her – could find him so resistible. He must not show his most appealing sides to them.

“I do have a little bit of time to spare,” he said, managing to keep his tone steady. He flexed his fingers underneath Kondo’s light touch, then gently moved to grasp the other’s hand, slowly turning it over. It was a kind, strong hand, as calloused as his own. He coughed. “We could move into the shade.”

Without even waiting for the other man’s response he was up on his feet, still holding Kondo by the hand; the policeman stumbled to their feet, and they started to walk towards the shaded grove of trees. Then Kondo stopped.

“Wait, no,” he said. 

Had he suddenly been struck by common sense? _Damn, then I have to use it, too._ Katsura let go of his hand and put his hands inside his sleeves, giving Kondo his best attempt at an impassive look, trying hard not to let disappointment or impatience show.

“I just meant, better not let these out of our sight.” Kondo bent down to pick up both the buckets of fish. 

Oh. Katsura took the fishing rods and the can of worms. True, it would not do to let some passing thief take his hard-won spoils.

They walked on further and further into the grove of trees until they found a shielded spot next to a rocky outcrop that was twice their height. Still risky, but not too exposed.

Katsura put his broad-brimmed monk hat and outer robe carefully on the ground next to his catch and fishing gear. Then he pushed Kondo up against the rock wall, looking at him closely without smiling, and with one hand clasped on his shoulder, the other tugging impatiently at his yukata. This move was not one he’d have used on a first foray – he was no shōjo bad boy – but by now he had a bit of an inkling as to the kind of things Kondo liked. And as for his part, the sheer thrill and exhilaration at the tremble of pleasure in the other man’s frame was gratifying. He sensed it like a vibrating undercurrent, from the roots of his hair down to his sandalled feet, which felt sweatier than usual in his socks.

He drew a hand through the other’s hair, strong and sturdy and sticking out all over the place like his courage and brash personality. Kondo gave out a long, low rumble that ended as a huge sigh of pleasure, not quite a moan yet: one strong arm clasping Katsura’s back, the other wandering down his back and side and squeezing his butt. Katsura blushed and tried to pretend he didn’t. He kissed Kondo on his jaw and his neck, breathing in that heady smell and nibbling a little on that sun-burnt shoulder, before he finally gave into temptation and kissed him for real.

“I see you brushed your teeth properly today,” he noted as they broke it off. “Aah… let’s get that off, shall we?” He tugged at the yukata again, one hand moving underneath it to stroke Kondo’s chest, not surprised he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. (In fairness, it wasn’t too far from summer.) 

“If you insist,” agreed Kondo. “And I’m glad you noticed! That’s some nice new aftershave I’ve got, isn’t it?” He preened, then leaned in close and kissed Katsura on the ear, making his pulse race higher. “You’re still using that lavender one.”

“Of-- of course. It’s cheap, good, and made in Japan,” said Katsura, stumbling on his words just a little as they pulled Kondo’s yukata off. He’d planned to leave his own kimono on for a little longer, although it was starting to feel pretty hot even here in the shade, where the sun was only coming down in small spots through the greenery. He’d have paused to admire the pattern of those spots on Kondo’s now-bared chest, if he hadn’t been feeling too impatient. They did have time, but hardly all the time in the world. (They never would have that much time, he suspected.)

Kondo’s hakama trousers, on the other hand, would have to go, he decided, as he got up on his toes to kiss him again, putting more force into it. Kondo’s rumbling was closer to a growl this time, as he grabbed Katsura’s shoulder and spun them around; Katsura enjoyed the sensation of being pushed up against the rock and kissed for a moment before he spun them back into the original position, not as any show of dominance but simply suspecting that was the intended reaction. 

Kondo did indeed gasp loudly and pulled Katsura even closer, then sneaked a hand into the other’s kimono sleeve, stroking his arm up and down at a surprisingly gentle pace. That was oddly pleasurable; Katsura swallowed and let escape a sound of contentment half a hum and half a whine. However, then Kondo abruptly stopped.

“I forgot you have all these things in there,” he said, pulling out a pair of tweezers. “You’re not carrying a bomb today, are you?” he added, laughing a little nervously.

“No comments at this juncture,” said Katsura a little breathlessly. “But it might be safer to leave that be.” He untied Kondo’s hakama and slid it down, while Kondo started to fiddle with Katsura’s obi knot.

“You know, there’s a lump of rock here that’s been digging into my back,” said Kondo. Katsura clicked his tongue.

“You should have said that at the start,” he grumbled. “What are you, some kind of stoic tough guy?” 

“Well, it wasn’t there right at the start, it was when you spun me around again- oh, yeah, that’s better.” Katsura dragged him to a better spot, having to tear off a few twigs that were in the way, first. He licked his dry lips, feeling another wave of excitement coursing through him, before Kondo clasped his shoulders and kissed him again; the next moment, he was already moaning ( _such a loud guy_ , thought Katsura just a touch smugly) at the pinch of a nipple. 

The obi knot was undone, and the outer kimono flew away, followed by the underkimono a moment later. Kondo arched his back as Katsura started to kiss and suck down his chest, one muscled leg moving up in pleasure. _So much energy!_ Kondo had so much… how to put it… _gusto_ in these things. Katsura didn’t mind doing his best to step up and try to meet the challenge, though. 

He gave out another gasp as Kondo nibbled his shoulder, and then snapped his hips _just so_. For a moment he gave in to the impulse to bury his blushing face in Kondo’s own shoulder. But then he got ahold of himself, grinned just a tad wildly, and reached down the other’s boxers to get a firm hold of him, as well. He even let out a short, uncommon laugh at the sensation of unkempt wildness that you got from being up and close with a gorilla.

They didn’t have all day, no -- but they did have this moment.

*

It was around thirty minutes later when Katsura reluctantly sat up, moving sluggishly to pull his white underkimono back on, still in a drowsy haze. His hair was a mess, his mouth was full of the taste of gorilla, aftershave or no aftershave; his body dearly needed a shower (no help for it, that would have to wait for hours more). But there was still a serene smile on his face that he didn’t feel like smoothing away yet.

Kondo was lying with his head on one arm and peering up at him, with an amount of mellow contentedness that was practically obscene on a policeman’s face. He looked so calm and at ease; Katsura couldn’t help, in that moment, to envy him a little. As he shook out a comb from his deep kimono sleeve, Kondo half sat up, leaning on one elbow.

“Let me do that,” he offered. 

Katsura looked at him and then shrugged. “If you insist.” He sat with his knees together but kimono still only half on, the obi sash on the ground two metres away, as Kondo started to comb through his hair in long, careful, unexpectedly gentle strokes. Through the grove of trees, he heard murmur of talk, footsteps, and the occasional shout of excitement from anglers by the river. He noted absently that it was a blessing nobody had happened to come across them yet. Aah, they would really need to be more careful…

“You don’t think we’re overdoing this?” said Kondo, breaking the silence. “All these… truces and stuff.” He ran a hair through Katsura’s hair, sending a shiver through his spine; but a pleasantly drowsy kind of shiver.

The thought had in fact occurred to Katsura many times, and would have done so even if it hadn’t been for this intimate a degree of fraternization. He was, he had to admit, in danger of growing seriously soft. Many times by now he had told himself not to agree to easy ceasefires again, to keep up a principled enmity without quarter – and not just in order to shield his own heart from hurt. Would it not be more dishonourable, if his conduct led Kondo to believe he’d surely offer mercy in a future battle, when he might not be able to do so? To betray your comrade was terrible, but to betray an honourable opponent was not all that much better.

He moved Kondo’s hand away from his hair, and shook it out, letting it fall over his back and drawing a hand through. It didn’t seem to need more combing. “Well, I haven’t succeeded in seducing you to my cause yet, evidently,” he said, glancing at the other over his shoulder, before getting up to put his kimono on all the way.

Kondo let out a surprised laugh. He scratched his head with a wry, resigned smile, something melancholy in his eyes right then, before turning away and finding his boxer shirts at the top of a nearby shrubbery. “That’s not going to happen, you know. Ah… where did my hakama go, again?”

The expression in his eyes was one that Katsura knew all too well: it was the responsibilities of his regular life coming to claim him - all the hard edges, hard decisions, bloodsheds and grieving widows, the threat of more death around the corner. In Kondo’s case, fighting to protect a city while his own superiors were corrupt collaborators or naïve figureheads: superiors who he really ought to turn against for the better of all, but it was, Katsura had to admit, increasingly clear why he didn’t want to realize that yet. In his own case, fighting for a cause most everyone thought hopeless, using ineffective comical methods in the place of the old ones that stank of blood and dead-end vengeance, still searching for a way that would finally lead forward.

He finished tying his obi knot properly and put his outer monk robe back on, sighing a little at having to leave the shade soon. The truly ludicrous thing was, he reflected, sleeping with Kondo felt _safe_. They both had to walk on complicated tightropes to get close to each other. But once it had come that far, the physical part always felt the least dangerous. A truce was a truce. Kondo’s word of honour was so solid you could build a city upon it. He was also the kind of man who simply couldn’t help but inspire trust and faith in others – and to lead them to wish to stay close to him. 

And yet, for all of that, he still hadn’t become one more back for Katsura to protect. 

He wasn’t Gintoki; he didn’t have that kind of easy embrace of people from all walks of life. Kondo was a worthy, honourable soul, precious to his men; precious to Edo as a whole, he ought to be, if only he served a better, less rotten edifice… Even for an enemy, it was hard not to notice that. But noticing, respecting, agreeing to occasional ceasefires; even drawing him close like this, as bodily close as you could come… that still didn’t make him someone Katsura could take it on himself to protect and look after. Besides, he knew Kondo himself wouldn’t stand for that. 

They still needed to be able to fight each other if need be, without holding back. They had to respect one another that much. Anything else was out of the question.

He tossed Kondo his yukata, which had been hanging off an aspen branch for some time now, put his hat back on and took his fishing gear and his bucket of fish. He opened his mouth to say some departing phrase, but then closed it at the sight of Kondo putting his yukata back on, stretching languorously, and pulling a hand through his unruly hair.

“I figured it out,” he said instead. “Why you’re always pulling your shirt off like a gorilla.”

“Eh? Don’t be like that. That’s just my character design, you know? We all have our pre-defined quirks, and that one’s mine.” Kondo shrugged good-naturedly and put his socks on, then sandals. 

Katsura pursed his lips, putting his arms in his sleeves. “What a terrible excuse. You sound like Gintoki. No, it’s that uniform that must be chafing you. You look so much better in your casual clothes.”

“Ah, but you don’t think anyone looks good in our uniform. Also you just want everyone to wear Japanese style in general, you crazy nationalist.” 

There was something to that, but Katsura wasn’t about to admit it. “It's not crazy nationalist, it's Katsura. Don’t make me into that narrowminded! Of course Japanese style is the best, but plenty of people look decent in Western clothes, too. Even the Shinsengumi one…” He paused, because yes, he did have a lot of built-up resentment against that uniform, but he was trying to be objective now. “Even I can admit the design itself isn’t that bad to start with, it’s the use it gets put to. I’m sure I’d cut a dashing figure with it.”

Kondo closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to picture that. Please, please don’t make me picture that,” he muttered. 

“I didn’t tell you to!” snapped Katsura. “But… I have no love for your Vice Commander, for example, but I can admit the uniform does fit him. It doesn’t fit you.”

“That’s being too frank! You don’t have to be that frank, even to an enemy!” protested Kondo. He was up on his feet now, looking around, probably for his own fishing gear. 

“Oh? I thought I offered words of understanding.” There was a pause at that; suddenly Katsura had to swallow and turn around, without quite knowing why. “All right,” he said. “Give me five minutes to leave. Then the truce is off.”

“You got it,” he heard the other said. Katsura didn’t turn back as he walked away.

 

*

It took him several hours to get back to his current lodgings. The trek back didn’t take much time in spite of his still somewhat pleasantly sluggish body; he was helped by a quick visit to a public bathroom for the most urgent freshing-up. Instead, it was the visit to Gengai-dono that took more time than expected. On the happy side, the old inventor took the news in stride: it wasn’t the first time he had to leave his place in haste. On the less happy side, Katsura hadn’t been able to avoid being conscripted into carrying various equipment off to a makeshift emergency storeroom, even though one would have thought Gengai-dono could just get all his robots to do that.

When he finally made it back, Elizabeth was sitting upright on the couch, munching instant ramen and watching soaps, with a scarf around his neck. Katsura deposited his catch proudly and then hopped into the shower. 

“Did your fever go down?” he asked as he stepped out in his bathrobe. Elizabeth signed that it had but he was still a bit weak on his feet.

“Are you well enough to cook some of these fish?” Katsura asked, nudging the bucket of fish with his foot. “Otherwise we can just leave it till the morning. Unless I make some sashimi, perhaps.”

[I CAN DO IT, KATSURA-SAN. I’M A BIT HUNGRY, TOO.]

“Ah, good…” 

[BY THE WAY], signed Elizabeth, [NOT TO MAKE A LEWD JOKE, BUT THAT WASN’T THE ROD YOU LEFT WITH THIS MORNING.] 

Katsura blinked and looked, then coloured. He tore off the tell-tale gold-and-black lure and threw it in the trash. “Lousy, stupid, government lapdogs—!” he muttered under his breath, then swore enough to elicit several beeps. “It- it’s just an honest mistake,” he said in a louder voice, “don’t read too much into it!” Then he fled into the kitchen to start cleaning the fish.

He was fast and efficient, and Elizabeth did a fine dish grilling the cleaned fish with salt, with chestnut rice and sesame-dressed spinach as side dishes.

Towards the end of dinner, Elizabeth signed, [I GUESS THE BIGGEST FISH WAS THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY].

Katsura shrugged, more at ease now with food in his stomach. Elizabeth really was the best and most perceptive pet and right-hand-man there was, anyway. “At this point in time, I have no option but to release that one,” he admitted. “But one day… with the right bait…” 

[I’M JUST GRATEFUL YOU DIDN’T BECOME A PART OF *HIS* HAUL.]

“Oh, don’t worry.” Katsura waved his chopsticks dismissively. “If I ever did, I would bite myself free and leap back into the water as always.” He swallowed his last scoop of rice and added, “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I know it’s a fish-eat-fish world out there. I’m not going to settle down in the shallows and ease up on my guard.”

[GLAD TO HEAR IT, KATSURA-SAN.]

But maybe, he mused as he got up and cleaned the table, a world where a big strong police fish and a dangerous, stubborn rebel fish could give up trying to hook and spear and net each other and instead simply swim together in peace – maybe that kind of world was particularly worth fighting for. 

Outside, the darkness had fallen, and neon lights were shining on the city. He got to work on the washing-up with a wistful sigh, thinking of the tenderness of rough hands, of a hoarse, low voice, those oddly safe hands, and a hot breath of trust against his bare shoulder…

Yet all was not so bad. Gengai-dono would keep eluding arrest. The Golden Cave hostage crisis would not come to pass. And it was possible that, in a not too distant future, a 23rd truce would be able to happen.

Those who stumbled their way through the dark night had to make do with what light and heat they could find, before they could reach the new dawn.


End file.
